


do punks believe in bigfoot?

by ficfucker



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, First Meetings, M/M, punk!shane, theyre younger and in college and all that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: shane: local campus cryptid punkryan: library bound bookworm with a passion for the creepy





	1. Chapter 1

Ryan spent a fantastic and maybe embarrassing amount of time -compared to the average human- in the campus library. He favored the horror section, eating his way through Stephen King and Dean Koontz novels, because, well, despite being a complete baby, Ryan loved to be scared. Loved the feeling of it. He’d crack open a book during passing periods, nestled between the horror and paranormal sections in a red vinyl armchair, and spend hours like that.

This was how Ryan first spotted him.

The punk kid.

He was tall enough that the top of his head could be seen over the bookshelves, at least 6’2, and the knee high boots he was wearing only made him taller.

 

Ryan peered up from his book and watched the stranger browse the cryptozoology section, thumbing through the spines with a clear topic in mind.

 _Do punks believe in bigfoot_ , Ryan thought to himself, amused.

Christ, Ryan hadn’t even _seen_ a punk like him before. He had been under the impression that punk was dead, or a dying breed, if anything. But here was this guy, sporting a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off, a septum piercing, spider bites, and a classic anarchy A t-shirt. And of all things? He was looking through a jersey devil book.

About a week or so passed since Ryan had last seen the punk in the library and for whatever reason, he was totally in love with the thought of seeing him again. Talk to him. Ask him what he was looking for in that section.

Okay, granted, that was a tad creepy. Ryan was just curious.

Ryan sat in his spot, a hot coffee in one hand and Watchers in the other, ready to jump back into his novel, and secretly praying today would be the day that the mysterious punk boy would come back. He hadn’t seen him on campus from that point on, either, like this dude was a ghost that could only be summoned through true belief in cryptids.

Not that Ryan was looking around campus for him… Once again, that was bordering creepy.

Rather than dwelling on it, Ryan preoccupied himself with reading, slowly but surely immersed within it until he felt like The Outsider was watching him. The golden hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the library seemed more quiet than ever, taking on the air of a morgue. Ryan pulled his legs to his chest, his converse shoes barely hanging over the edge of the chair, flipping each page tentatively, as if a creature would materialize from pure thought and rip out his eyes.

It was near the point that Ryan could feel something breathing on him, down his throat, the twisted jaw of a science experiment gone wrong ready to snap shut around his jugular. It was completely nerve-wracking. And for Ryan? Incredibly exciting, like the drop in your stomach on a rollercoaster.

“Hey, dude, do you know wh-”

Ryan reacted to the voice with a feminine shriek and a full-body jolt, spilling about a quarter of his coffee down the front of himself in the process.

It was the punk.

He was bent halfway over, leaning in to Ryan, but took a step back and stood erect, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Holy shit, man,” he wheezed. A laugh erupted from him and his shoulders bounced comically as no sound came out.

Ryan flushed red then scowled. “Do you greet _everyone_ like that, asshole?” he huffed. What the fuck was this guy sneaking up on him for?

A “shhh” from across the room cut through them, and they both glanced over their shoulders to see the librarian with her index finger pressed to her lips. So, in a whisper, the stranger said, “Not everyone. Just cute boys reading horror novels.” He offered up a smile, pushing his piercings in and out of his lip idly.

Ryan’s brow knit together and he opened his mouth, trying to dig up the right response and failing. His heart was still rattling around in his throat from the unintentional jumpscare just a moment ago. Was he flirting with him? Ryan was too all over the place to even determine, and his thoughts settled on the awful coffee spill that was starting to turn cold on his chest.

“Listen, dude, I gotta-I have to go deal with this…” Ryan gestured to the creamy-brown stain on his gray sweater. He grabbed his coffee cup, his book, and his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and turning 180 away from the stranger, headed towards the door.

“Hey, hey, hey, whoa, wait…,” the guy rambled, scrambling to catch up to Ryan. He put a hand daringly on Ryan’s shoulder when they got to the steps and let it slip away as Ryan turned to face him. “Bad start, huh? Okay, uh… Do you wanna swing by my dorm? You can borrow a shirt, I’ve got tons, I’m sure they’ll fit and then we-”

“Your dorm? Holy shit, man…,” Ryan breathed out, exasperated.

“Not like that, oh, Jesus,” he laughed.

“Like what then?” Ryan dared. He was sick of this guy and the chilled air was nipping through his wet sweater, almost enough to get him to shiver.

“Okay, let’s-let’s start over. I’m Shane. I noticed you’re uh, into like, ghosts and shit.”

They started down the steps together, Shane slouching slightly, like he was attempting to get to eye level with Ryan, which only worsened his already ruined attitude.

“Uh-huh. And how does this connect to you wanting to go to your dorm?”

Shane laughed again. “Jeez, man, I’m getting to that. I uh, I’m big into like, cryptids, ya know… Nightwalkers, Bigfoot, Chupacabra, all that jazz. Ghosts? That’s all bullshit. But… But I know that’s your deal, right?”

Ryan stopped and squinted at him. “You still haven’t gotten to the point.”

“This is going to sound lame as shit considering I just told you I don’t believe in ghosts, but the old meat packaging factory outside town? It’s supposed to be haunted or whatever, some guy got chewed up in one of the grinders. I was wondering if you’d investigate it with me.”

Ryan started walking again. “As _inviting_ as that sounds, I’ll pass. Going to an abandoned factory with some strange guy I just met? I’ve read enough horror to know y-you’re gonna lobotomize me.”

“I didn’t mean- it doesn’t have to be today! Here-just…,” Shane sputtered. He reached into an inner coat pocket on his vest and pulled out a small notebook and tore out a page, scribbling down some numbers. “Text me, okay? I promise I won’t jumpscare ya again.”

Ryan took the scrap of paper and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

They went off in opposite directions and Ryan checked over his shoulder to see Shane marching away. He hadn’t noticed until now but Shane had a big clearly hand-made patch on the back of his vest: white paint that read “BIGFOOT’S REAL HE TRIED TO SUCK MY DICK” and a decent silhouette of the aforementioned cryptid. Below that was a “FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY” patch.

Despite himself, Ryan laughed.

 

 

 

 

Ryan got back to his dorm, slung his bag onto his bed, and pulled off his soiled sweater to replace it with another one, this time blue. He changed into pajama bottoms, the sun was already going down, and sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the slip of paper in his palm.

Sighing, Ryan added a new contact, punched in the numbers, and hesitantly sent a text simply saying, “hey its ryan from the library”.

Within minutes, the reply came back. A “hey ryan!!” followed by three ghost emojis.

Ryan nearly cracked a smile and gave Shane the nickname “Bigfoot Fucker” in his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy!!


	2. Chapter 2

The weekend rolled around, with Ryan having attended his classes like usual and not seeing Shane since he gave him his number, and that’s when the text came in:   
  


_ bigfoot fucker: wanna get breakfast? i’ll pay for it  _

 

It was already ten and Ryan hadn’t eaten. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten dressed yet, he was bumming around his room in pajama bottoms with cartoon ghosts on them. (Cut him some slack, they were a Christmas gift from his mom.)

Ryan mentally shrugged. Couldn’t pass up free food, so he replied with an alright and pulled on some jeans, a green jacket, a black beanie. 

 

_ bigfoot fucker: cool i’ll swing by and pick u up  _

 

Ryan waited on the steps and considered whether or not he wanted to be the one to bring up the factory investigation. Curiosity had gotten the best of him, as it so often did, and he found some decent results when he Googled it. A few videos local teens had taken, even a handful of fair-quality EVPs, enough to make Ryan shudder. It seemed like Shane had the right idea in checking it out, but Ryan still barely knew this guy. 

Not much outside of his love for cryptids and DIY culture. 

Shane pulled up a few minutes later and leaned across the passenger seat to open it for Ryan with a huge smile. An attempt at chivalry?

Today Shane was in a black canvas jacket, patched in a similar manner as his vest, and a shirt under it with a white circular logo and white lettering that said “CRASS”. Whatever that meant. Also: eyeliner? Just a faint smudge of it smeared over each eyelid, subtle but enough for Ryan to notice. 

Dead Kennedys was playing on cassette, incredibly in character of Shane.

“Ever been to Deb’s Diner? Fantastic fuckin’ pie, if that’s your thing,” Shane said, jumping right into conversation. 

“Oh, uh, nah, never been.”

Shane drummed his long fingers on the wheel, getting Ryan to realize he was wearing 4 silver rings. “You’re gonna love it, dude. I’ve been going since I was like, 4. Ya know, with my family. Guess I never grew out of it.” 

“Just grew into hating the government?” Ryan joked. 

Shane laughed like he was caught off guard by the sudden quip. “Exactly!” 

This reaction made Ryan’s heart beat a bit faster and he loosened up, feeling empowered. “Hey, uh, do-do all punks believe in Bigfoot?” he asked with a cheesy grin. 

Shane matched his grin and signaled to turn into town. “Someone’s gotta believe in him! It best be known that when I say ‘equality for everyone’, it’s including my boy The Foot.” Using his left hand, he pointed to the E enclosed in a circle on the right side of his chest. 

This got Ryan to crack up in the passenger seat, burying his face in his hands and heaving out an “oh my god”, almost, just  _ almost _ forgiving Shane for having startled him so bad earlier in the week. 

Compared to their first interaction, Ryan felt way more at ease. Shane had a good energy to him, like no matter what the topic was, he’d just flow with it. Maybe that was what Ryan needed in his life, being the anxious person he was. A good dynamic was showing signs of budding. Too early in the friendship (could he even call it that yet?) to determine. 

Things settled to silence between them, only alive with the hum of the heaters and the sound of Jello Biafra’s voice, singing lyrics about corporate corruption. It wasn’t exactly awkward, more so that Ryan couldn’t think of anything else to say and Shane didn’t appear to mind, so he let the quiet sit. 

They pulled into a little lot hosting a diner in shape similar to a mobile, like the ones you see in trailer parks, bright pink with a big wooden sign reading DEB’S DINER. Shane was the first to hop out, clearly eager to dive into some pie that he had been drooling over. Ryan felt dwarfed next to him as they made their way towards the entrance. 

Shane, being the one who knew what he was doing, held the door for Ryan then swooped in and lead them both to an empty booth, scooping up two menus and displaying them on the table.

Ryan rubbed his hands together under the table, half from the cold, half from being the perfect amount of nervous, his shoulders hunched together as he looked over his options. 

A waitress took their orders; orange juice, a three stack of pancakes, and a side of bacon for Ryan, French toast, coffee, and sausage for Shane. They sipped their drinks idly while waiting for their food to arrive. Shane was radiating enjoyment simply from sitting there. 

“So,” Shane started, smiling. “Give any thought on the factory deal?”

Ryan was relieved he wasn’t the one to bring it up. “Yeah, actually, seems pretty fucking haunted.”

Shane fiddled with the sugar packets. “Down to check it out tonight then?”

Before Ryan could give an answer, their waitress returned with two plates; Ryan uttered out an obligatory thank you and Shane batted his eyelashes, which the waitress responded to with pinching Shane’s stubbled cheek and laughing. 

Once they were alone again, Ryan continued, “I mean, uh, yeah, I guess. But won’t- isn’t it all fenced off by now?” Ryan began cutting his pancakes into neat little portions.

Shane didn’t hesitate to spoon French toast into his mouth, talking around bites. “Fence hopping, baby. I have some bolt cutters. Easy-peasy.” 

“Christ, dude, what is this? Some-some punk scheme to fuckin’... throw bricks in windows and spray paint ‘bigfoot was here’ in abandoned locations?”

A wheeze broke from Shane and he coughed into his fist like he was choking. “Well, the plan didn’t  _ directly _ involve that, but…” 

Ryan was so bewildered and enamored with this guy. He crunched his bacon, trying to hide a smile, and rolled his eyes to avoid having to talk, avoid making himself look like an idiot. Ryan excelled in that; accidentally blurting out something dumb and then immediately regretting it. 

“So, is it a deal?” Shane pointed his fork at Ryan, which had a greasy link of sausage speared on it. 

“Dude, that’s so gross,” Ryan laughed. 

Shane punctuated the moment by eating his sausage, then pointing his fork back at Ryan. “Deal?” he tried again. His mouth was full of now-ground-up meat chunks, which was one of the most disgusting things Ryan could think to see while having breakfast, but at the same time, whatever it was about Shane, he found it cute. 

“Deal,” Ryan said, feeling spontaneously brave. 

They clinked their glasses together as if making a pact. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not super happy with this chapter so feedback is welcomed !


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream date? ghost hunting, for sure

After breakfast, Shane dropped Ryan back off at his dorm. Ryan had a crumpled napkin tucked into his pocket that Shane had marked up with notes at the diner; a mini map of the factory, when to meet, where, what to bring along for the night.

Ryan got into his room and immediately started packing a bag despite having literal hours before he even needed to think about heading out. Flashlight, water bottle, camcorder he had gotten a few birthdays back that still worked, a tape recorder, extra batteries. On top of this all, Ryan stuffed in an extra hoodie, just in case he got cold.

For the rest of the afternoon, Ryan switched between reading any of the several books he had lying around and studying for classes, occasionally checking his phone. The anticipation in his stomach was ever-growing, so much so that it was getting hard to focus on what he was reading, what he was writing. 

He wanted to be around Shane. 

It felt foolish to admit, even to himself. 

It was on the fence of feeling like infatuation, those initial moments of any crush, the wonderful swell of admiration that made Ryan want to giggle and bury his head in his hands. Christ, he was an idiot. But Shane was the  _ idiot _ who had him  _ feeling _ this way!

Ryan had a feeling that the more time he spent around Shane, the more often he would be thinking of Shane as an idiot and (lovingly) accusing him of being one. 

Ryan’s phone buzzed and pinged and he leapt for it. 

Not that he would ever admit to that. 

He was infatuated, but he wasn’t desperate. 

 

_ bigfoot fucker: do u like fruit rollups ?  _

 

_ ryan from the library: dumb question, dude, everyone likes fruit rollups  _

 

_ bigfoot: okay good thing becuz i got like a whole box of them for 2night  _

 

Ryan shifted in his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest as a smile spread out on his face the way a sunflower twists open. 

 

_ ryan from the library: gonna entice some ghosts out of hiding with the smell of artificial strawberries?  _

 

_ bigfoot: if ghosts r real im not sharing !!!! _

 

They texted on and off for the rest of the evening, sending each other what footage and newspaper articles they had found online about the factory, cracking jokes and making weird meme-esque references. Ryan was one big-dumb smile. 

 

 

 

Around 5, Ryan texted Shane saying he was getting dressed and would head out to meet him there soon and Shane responded with a simple thumbs up emoji. 

Ryan pulled on some jeans and hunted around his dorm for his best pair of boots, which he found stashed away in the back of his closet. A Star Wars shirt and a black hoodie with a jean jacket over it. He spent at least 15 minutes trying to figure out to style his hair, slicking it with gel, then deciding he hated the wet look, washing it out and blow drying it, then hating that even more.

It felt like a first date and Ryan didn’t know how to prepare himself properly. 

Ryan threw on a baseball cap and deemed things good enough. 

He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, unplugged his phone from where it had been charging on his bed, and paused at the door to make sure he had all his limbs attached. 

10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 eyes. 

1 major crush on some guy he hardly knew. 

Yep, everything was in check. 

 

 

 

Ryan waited, sitting on an overturned milk crate, where Shane had drawn out on the napkin. He didn’t stop to think why Shane was so versed with the building that he would know exactly where a milkcrate to sit on would be located. 

He leaned against the chain link fence behind him and checked his camera for the millionth time, making sure the battery was full, that the zoom worked, testing out the focus. 

Sitting by an abandoned, supposedly haunted factory on the outskirts of town was not Ryan’s ideal situation, and the more time that passed, the more time Ryan’s anxiety had to swell. 

The sun had already set and there were no other houses on this street, so every car that passed by, though very few, put Ryan on edge, imagining that the driver could be a murderer or stalker. Ryan hunched over on the milk crate, warming his hands by blowing his breath into them, and kicked a few pebbles. 

The crunch of shoes on gravel got Ryan’s attention and he sat erect, blinking in the direction of the sound. 

There was the bounce of a flashlight. 

Ryan prayed, his thighs shaking, that he wasn’t about to get caught for trespassing. 

Was it trespassing if he was sitting  _ outside _ the property? Was it loitering? Ryan was lightheaded from anxiety and couldn’t decide. 

“Hey, Ryan!” Shane cheered. With what little light there was, Ryan could see that Shane was all smiles. “Sorry I took so long, I-I, well, I was sewing something onto a jacket and I stitched it  _ right _ into my bed without noticing.” 

Ryan giggled, half from anxiety and half from what Shane had just told him. “I-It’s fine, man. Let’s just-How about we get this whole ‘kind of breaking and entering’ trespassing deal over with.” 

Shane nodded and passed his flashlight over to Ryan and dropped his bag on the ground, pulling on the handles that were sticking out and revealing a decent sized pair of bolt cutters. 

Ryan held the light for Shane while he brought the silver, metal teeth up to the fence and clipped through the links. While holding the light, he also kind of… Well, Ryan checked Shane out. 

He was in his chunky knee high boots and black jeans, a black denim jacket with only one patch on it, it seemed, from what Ryan could tell; a big back patch with a silhouette of mothman with red eyes, white block text reading “THE MAN THE MOTH” above him, then, in the same font, below it “THE LEGEND”. Shane’s piercings and rings were in place, reflecting silver in the light, and some studs around his neck caught it, too. A leather collar. 

“Alright, baby, we’re in!” Shane announced. He grinned over at Ryan a moment before stooping down to pack his bolt cutters back into his bag and his smile alone made Ryan’s heart do a backflip. 

“Rollup?” Shane offered, holding out one of the single-wrap snacks. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Shane unrolled his, wound the red skin into a ball, and shoved it into his mouth, then stood and gestured for Ryan to go in first, waving his hands at the hole in the fence he had cut. 

Ryan glanced at him and flicked on his camera, whispering, “Alright, here we go…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i finally worked on this fic!!! it's not dead!!
> 
> will try to finish this up soon, my dudes, thank you so much for your patience with me 
> 
> don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you liked this chapter/work!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys finally enter the factory

The front doors had once been chained and padlocked, but the remains of such were on the ground in a skewed heap, probably from previous trespassers, so Shane held the door open for Ryan like some haunted doorman. 

“Oh, me first? How fun…” 

Inside, the ceilings were high and spacious. There were long rows of tables, about twenty feet in length and in 5 neatly spaced rows, all identical in shape and material, the surfaces reflecting the light Shane cast on them. 

“I hate this,” Ryan hissed, taking a step back and accidentally bumping into Shane’s front. 

“This isn’t even the worst part,” Shane whispered and he sounded almost… gleeful. 

Ryan turned and blinked up at Shane, trying to keep a good hold on the camcorder, but knowing he would have to delete this opening footage; all he had done was complain and swing the thing around. 

“This is like… these are the plucking lines. Next room has the meat hooks and machinery they used,” Shane explained simply. He pointed towards a large, steel door with large industrial bolts drilled into the sides of it, exactly the kind of place a mad butcher in a horror movie would string up his victims. 

Ryan was starting to regret this, even in the company of Shane. 

Shane nudged him with his elbow, as if to coax him to move forward and Ryan stumbled over his own feet before taking a few direct steps and clearing his throat. “A-Are we posting this anywhere? Should I like, narrate?” 

Even in the dark, between the one flashlight, Ryan knew Shane was smiling. “Do it.” 

“Uh. So Shane and I are here at Flour Mill Meats Packaging Plant, which closed sometime during the uh, like 80s after a man lost an entire arm in a meat grinding accident.” Ryan stepped forward again and let his fingers lightly touch the metal top of one of the elongated tables, cool under his touch. “Following this… the plant was shut down after-after several investigations.” 

Shane hopped up onto the table and sat on it, saying, “Practice those lines in your free time? You should announce upcoming movies in that voice.” 

Ryan raised his eyebrows and panned his little camera over to Shane’s smug face, which was caught perfectly in the thermal imaging setting he had switched it to. “What voice?” he asked, and it came out more defensive than he had intended. 

“Your Spooky Voice, dude.” He twiddled his fingers. Ryan would never admit to how hypnotized he was with the soft silver glints Shane’s rings made as his fingers moved like worms. 

Ryan ignored what Shane had said and commented, “I can’t believe you’re sitting up there,  man. You know how many animals were-were probably fuckin’ gutted there?” 

Shane pats the spot next to him like it’s a place for royalty. “Hop up, short stuff. We got some ghosts to talk to.” 

And for whatever inexplicable reason, by power of some unseen, otherworldly, ungodly force, Ryan finds himself on the metal table top, rummaging through his bag in hopes to find the tape recorder he had packed. In the bag, he sees the flashlight he had completely forgotten about. 

Being around Shane reduces him to a mindless zombie, he swears. 

“Back up hoodie? Worried the ghosts are gonna change the temperature in the room?” Shane teased, grabbing the gray sweatshirt and unrolling it from it’s neatly bundled state. 

“It’s cold out, what can I say.” Ryan located the tape recorder and set it between them and pushed in the small black button on the side. Tape whirred in the machine and both boys were quiet for a moment. 

“Is… Is anyone here with us?” Ryan dared first. 

“Any ghosts willing to chat? We come in peace.”

Ryan giggled and slapped his hand over his mouth, speaking around his fingers. “We come in peace? We’re not aliens, Shane, oh my god.”

“I’m letting them know our stance. We’re, uh, we’re… paranormal pacifists, baby!” 

“Yeah, no way am I throwing down with a ghost.” 

Shane cracked his knuckles and Ryan took note of how big his smile had grown. “Yeah, you’re too jumpy to throw hands with a ghost anyway.” 

Ryan, once again forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, due to the intoxicating influence of Shane, an influence that allowed him to get carried away, wasn’t thinking about being quiet and catching an EVP anymore. “If you get possessed, I wouldn’t hesitate to punch you,” Ryan said. 

A hand pressed itself flat to Shane’s chest and a gasp escaped his lips. “Still hurt that I scared you the first time we met?” Shane asked, feigning his shock. 

“Nah, just looking for a reason to-to get proof of ghosts, and that might entail fighting a 7 foot punk who-who’s possessed by a demon.” Ryan wheezed, trying to stop on oncoming fit of giggles. “F-For the science, of it all, you know.” 

Shane, dropping his act, nodded solemnly. “Sounds  _ very _ scientific, Ryan.” 

They both wheezed out a laugh, kind of at how ridiculous this whole thing was, and once things fell to silence again, Ryan felt a fingertip trail up his leg to his knee. He flinched and his heart raced, his flashlight bobbing back and forth in his shaking grip. 

“Did you touch me?” Ryan asked in a breathless whisper. He could feel the blood draining from his face and being replaced by an icy layer of chills. 

“Why would I?” 

“Dude, don’t joke, something j-just fuckin’ touched me.” 

And before Shane could say something in response, a tiny, crackling voice came through on the tape recorder. It was broken and speaking too fast, sounding like a little kid on the verge of tears during a panic attack. 

Neither of them spoke. 

Ryan dropped his flashlight, which bounced to the floor and promptly went out, and scrambled to grab the recorder, desperately pressing the rewind button. 

The tape spun round and round and Ryan pressed the play button. 

There was their laughed. 

Then static. 

Then… 

_ “I’mrighthere.” _

“Oh my god,” Ryan breathed out. He repeated it twice while rewinding the tape for a second time. 

Laughter, static. 

_ “I’mrighthere.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not done just yet and unsure of where i want this to go 
> 
> lemme know what you think and don't forget to leave kudos!!
> 
> (find me on tmblr @parttime-ghosthunter)


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